by Jane Blythe
She would have been happy to just curl up in Eli’s arms, snuggle for a while, and then drift off to sleep, but it seemed he had other plans. “What are you doing?” she asked as he moved down her body.
“Round two,” he grinned.
“I don’t think I can come again this soon after that.”
“I love a challenge.” Eli settled between her legs, and when the tip of his tongue darted out to touch her and pleasure zinged through her, she realized she was wrong.
Who cared about sleep?
She was going to spend the night making out with Eli, and she wasn't even going to regret it when her alarm went off in the morning.
FEBRUARY 18TH
5:51 A.M.
Eli couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually enjoyed snuggling with a woman after sex.
It wasn't like he’d kicked the women he’d been involved with straight out of bed once they’d both been satisfied, they’d spent the night, or he’d spent the night, some had liked to lie against him, others had rolled over to their side of the bed, but all of those times he’d never felt this connection. He’d never felt the need to hold them close, keep them cuddled against his side even in sleep.
But with Florence, he felt like even if she was on the other side of the bed she was too far away.
Florence had set her alarm for six o’clock, which meant he had exactly nine minutes to wait until she woke up and he could make love to her again. She’d wanted to wake at five to hit the gym before she started her day, and he’d been slack lately, skipping several workouts because he was spending all his free time with Florence. But he’d talked her into staying in bed for another hour because he wanted to start his day exercising in a different manner.
Another glance at the clock on Florence’s nightstand said there was still another four minutes before the alarm would go off.
That was too long to wait.
Rolling Florence underneath him, Eli trailed a line of kisses down her neck. “You awake, princess?”
“Mmm,” Florence murmured as she stretched and blinked open sleepy eyes to smile up at him. “If you keep doing that then yes, I'm awake.” She arched her neck to give him better access.
“If I keep this up? Princess, try and stop me. Touching you, kissing you, tasting you, I could make this my new full-time job.” If it were up to him, he’d be calling up the jewelers today to insist they have the ring ready and waiting for him to pick up this morning so he could propose to her tonight. He wanted to make love to her every night, fall asleep with their limbs tangled together, and then start each new day with sex.
“How do you get me from asleep to turned on in mere seconds?” Florence asked as she moaned and shifted, lifting her hips as she felt his hard length pressed against her.
“Having you sleep naked is part of my master plan,” he teased as he probed her entrance. Last night they’d done it fast and hard, slow and sensual, and everything in between, right now he wanted to take his time, enjoy the moment.
Florence obviously had other plans.
She thrust her hips up, burying him deep inside her hot, wet center.
Just like that his control snapped. When he was inside her bringing her pleasure was all he could think about. It wasn't even about his own release, he just wanted to see the look on her face as she toppled over the edge into a world filled with nothing but ecstasy.
Capturing her nipple in his mouth, he tongued it and was rewarded with a moan falling from her lips that made him grow harder if that were possible. Her fingers curled into his hair as he feasted on her, savoring every moan, every sigh, every wiggle as her body urged him on.
His release was building, but he held it back, determined that he wouldn’t come until she did.
Scraping his teeth lightly across her nipple, he sent her tipping over the edge. She clamped around him as her orgasm spiraled through him, setting off his own orgasm.
It plowed into him with the force of a freight train, going on and on until he thought it was going to last forever.
By the time it finally faded, his arms shook as he kept his elbows locked so he wouldn’t crush Florence.
“Don’t,” she said, reaching up to curl her arms around his neck, pulling him down so his body covered hers.
“I'm too heavy, princess, I’ll hurt you.”
“You won't,” she contradicted, holding him tighter so he couldn’t lever himself back up. “I like feeling your body on top of mine, makes me feel safe.”
Tilting his face sideways he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are safe with me, princess.”
“I know.” She gave a contented sigh as she snuggled closer.
He liked this.
Just lying in bed, holding Florence in his arms.
This was perfect.
Everything with her was perfect.
He’d give her a few more days, a week or two maybe, to get used to the idea that they were together and he wasn't going to let her down, and then he was proposing. It didn't matter to him if they’d known each other a day, a week, a month, or a year, he was falling in love with her, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, so he saw no reason to delay.
The connection between them was strong, it wasn't going anywhere, he couldn’t imagine anything coming between them.
Was he expecting a perfect life without arguments and disagreements?
No.
Eli was too realistic to think that. But he’d watched his parents model how to have a successful marriage, how to deal with problems as soon as they arose so that nothing was left to fester, and that’s what he wanted with Florence.
“I wish we didn't have to get up and get ready for work,” Florence said.
“Me too. Want to play hooky?”
“I wish I could, but Jake and I have to interview Michael Stypes today, get the paperwork on the case wrapped up to send to the DA.”
“I know the guy is a serial killer, but still I can't help but be grateful to him. If he hadn't tried to run you over then we would never have met.” It felt wrong to be grateful to a killer, but how could he not be thankful that Florence had been brought into his life? He’d needed her, and she’d needed him, and fate had thrown them together at the perfect time.
“Can't argue with that. I'm still glad he’s off the streets though, because men like Michael, they never stop killing.”
He didn't have to be a cop to know that.
And knowing that filled him with a cold dread.
Florence had survived a serial killer when she was eight years old, but it didn't look like the man had been able to let her go.
The Coffin Killer had been stalking her for nearly two decades now, it seemed unlikely that he would ever leave her alone. “Did Jake make any progress in finding the man who attacked you?”
“I don’t think so, but we were distracted with the Dumpster Killer. CSU didn't find anything here, he probably wore gloves, he’s been active for decades, he knows what he’s doing, he won't have left any forensics behind.”
“Why aren’t you more worried about this?” He lifted up so he could see her properly.
“I'm a cop, I can take care of myself, and he’s never made physical contact like that before. I think he only came by because he wanted to help, make sure we got the Dumpster Killer off the streets, I guess he didn't like the man trying to kill me.”
“Are you making excuses for him?”
“What?” Florence’s eyes grew wide and disbelieving. “No, of course not. That man tried to kill me, he sexually assaulted me, I'm his only living victim, you don’t think I feel guilty that I survived and all those other girls didn't? I’ve been looking for him ever since I became a cop, I'd give anything to be the one to snap cuffs on him and read him his rights. If you don’t get that, then maybe you should leave.” She tried to shove him off her, but he sat up and drew her into his lap.
“You're right, I'm sorry. Of course I don’t really think you're making excuses for him. It just ter
rifies me that there is a smart killer out there who is fixated on you.” He’d already lost most of his family, there was no way he was losing Florence too.
Her face softened, and she reached out to cup his cheek in her hand. “Okay, I guess I can understand that, it freaks my brother out too. I'm careful, and if he comes after me again he won't be getting away. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Too late, princess. When you care about someone you worry about them, so I'm going to worry about you. Always.” Turning his face to the side, he touched his lips to the inside of her wrist, making her shiver.
“I guess that’s kind of sweet.”
“That’s me,” he grinned, argument averted, he was going to have to get a handle on the fact that Florence had a dangerous job. “If I make us French toast for breakfast, we’ll have time to take a shower together before we have to leave for work.”
“Shower first, breakfast can wait.” Florence slid off his lap and grabbed his hand, leading him into the bathroom.
Watching her perky little behind and her long toned legs, he could go with that plan.
* * * * *
8:12 A.M.
“I might have something.”
Florence glanced over at her partner. “Something on which case?”
“Yours.”
“Mine? You mean the break-in?” She was ready to put that behind her. She didn't think that the Coffin Killer was a threat to her, and if he was stalking her, then maybe she could get him off the streets.
Nineteen years.
For nineteen long years she had wanted that man off the streets.
Even as an eight-year-old child, she had wanted to do whatever she could to put him behind bars, but what she could do had been limited. She’d known that the man who had tried to kill her was her mother’s boyfriend, although she’d seen him only a handful of times, but neither she nor her mother had been able to tell the cops anything that had helped them find the guy.
Over time, she’d had to get used to the idea that he would never be caught.
That the little girls who had lost their lives would never get justice.
Florence had always felt worse for those girls than she had for herself. She’d gotten off lightly, she had lived, they hadn't. That was what she had told herself when she couldn’t fall asleep for fear of nightmares, that was what she had told herself when she was terrified to be alone but had no one there to comfort and reassure her. That was what she had told herself every day for almost two years before she’d finally felt like her life was returning to normal.
Slowly, her life had returned to normal, or as normal as her and her brother’s lives had been. She’d been focused on school and getting good grades so she could get out and build a better life, but she’d never forgotten the man, couldn’t even if she’d tried because he wouldn’t let her. Nearly four years had passed when she got the first letter, she and Fletcher had taken it to the Sheriff who had handed it on to the FBI who were working the Coffin Killer case, but nothing had ever come of it, and over time she had stopped passing the notes along.
But she’d kept every one of them, determined that sooner or later she’d get him.
Had her chance finally come?
They didn't even know the man’s real name. He’d been Jerry Kramer when he’d been dating her mother, but Jerry Kramer hadn't existed.
“Hey.”
She looked back up, realized she had zoned out, and refocused her mind. “So, what did you find out?”
“There was a fingerprint on the window, and it doesn’t match yours,” Jake informed her.
“A fingerprint on the window? Why would he have touched the window?”
“Were your blinds open or closed?”
“Open, I never close the living room blinds only the bedroom ones.”
“We know he’d been watching you, what if he had seen you with Eli. He has you in the living room up against the wall as he tells you that Michael is the one who tried to run you down, then he sees Eli coming. He panics, looks out to confirm it’s your boyfriend because you haven't been with him long and he probably wanted to make sure. Once he confirms that it is Eli he sees coming, he hightails it out of there.”
“Could he have made it out that quickly? I mean, Eli saw him coming out as he was about to enter the building, would he have had time to make it down?”
“Depends. If he recognized the car that Eli owns then he could have made it if he took the stairs. Anyone else been in your apartment that might have touched the window?”
“Besides you and my brother, and Eli the last few days, no one but the plumber from last spring when that pipe in my bathroom broke, has been in my apartment.”
“I doubt he would have been standing in your living room looking out your window.”
“I guess not,” she agreed. “So chances are it is from him. Is it already running through the system?”
“Yes. This guy has to be in the system, you can't murder dozens of children and not have been arrested for something somewhere along the line. He’s a pedophile, at some point someone would have reported him for taking too much of an interest in their daughter. A girlfriend perhaps, or if he has a job that entails working with or around kids then a parent or colleague, a neighbor, whatever, someone has to have seen something.”
“I don’t know, Jake,” she said slowly. “This guy is good. Really good. He’s been operating for decades, and he has never—ever—left a single piece of forensic evidence behind. Not a hair, not a fingerprint, not a shoeprint, nothing. Nada. Zero, zippo, zilch, what are the chances that he messed up now?”
“But this involves you, and you're different. You got away. You. An eight-year-old little child bested him.”
“I didn't get away the other morning,” she muttered. It annoyed her that she hadn't been able to get out of the Coffin Killer’s grip. She was a cop, taught self-defense, worked out religiously, and was an excellent shot, yet he had overpowered her. That took her right back to being the helpless child she had fought so hard to leave behind.
Took her back to the afternoon she had been walking home from school only to be accosted by her mother’s boyfriend. He had grabbed her arm and dragged her along with him. No one had noticed because no one in River’s End had paid much attention to the poor little girl. She remembered him holding her down while he inserted the IV into the inside of her elbow. Although he’d messed up, somehow she’d gotten enough of the sedatives that what had happened next was hazy. Her next clear memory was lying in a coffin.
Her whole childhood she hadn't been in control. She couldn’t stop her father leaving, she couldn’t stop her mother drinking, she couldn’t change the circumstances that she and Fletcher had lived in, she couldn’t stop the Coffin Killer from hurting her, nor had she stopped one of her mother’s boyfriend’s from assaulting her. When she had left River’s End, she had vowed that she would never again be helpless, and she hadn't been until her own personal bogeyman had come back into her life.
To get her equilibrium back, it felt like she had to put the Coffin Killer where he belonged.
Behind bars.
He had hurt enough children, destroyed enough families, it was time to end his reign of terror.
“He’s obsessed with you, Florence, and he’s upping the game. Following you around, breaking into your apartment, he’s no longer content just to watch you from a distance and send you mail.”
“What are you saying, Jake?” she asked, not liking his tone.
“I’m saying you need to be careful.”
Arching a suspicious brow. “And what exactly do you mean when you say I need to be careful.”
“I think you should stay somewhere else for a while, a hotel, or with Eli.”
“With Eli? We only just met, I'm not moving in with him.” Although the idea didn't sound as objectionable as it should. Sure she and Eli had just met, but they both knew that what was between them was big, and she was positive that Eli would actually jump at the
idea of them living together, but it was too soon. Right? The rules of dating said you didn't move in together after a week of dating. And really, it hadn't even been a week, they’d only technically been dating for a couple of days.
“You don’t have to move in with him, that’s not what I'm suggesting. All I'm saying is that a serial killer who has eluded the authorities for over two decades is fixated on you and he’s escalating. You need to take this threat seriously. I know you, you brush off any concerns that relate to you, and you go out of your way to make sure that every victim in every case we work is safe and well taken care of. I want the same for you. Check your surroundings, be alert, if you’re going to be staying alone at your apartment maybe you should get an alarm system. Florence, you’re finally happy, really happy I mean, now is not the time to go and get yourself killed.” He finished with a grin.
Florence rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t help but smile because what he’d said was true. At eight, she didn't have anything to live for. As depressing as that sounded, it was true. But now at twenty-seven, she had a man in her life who cared about her, who respected her, who was there for her, and she could see herself with him long term. Marriage, kids, the family she’d never had as a child she could have with Eli.
With happiness within her grasp and all her dreams about to come true there was no way she was letting a serial killer take that away from her.
* * * * *
5:53 P.M.
“You know you can't pick me up every single day,” Florence said when she saw him standing outside the precinct.
“Why not?” Eli asked, drawing her into his embrace and kissing her.
“Because I'm a grown-up with a job, and you’re a grown-up with a job, and those two jobs can't coincide every day.”
“I don’t see why not,” he told her as he led her to the car. She seemed like she was on edge, she hadn't been when he’d dropped her off this morning so it was obviously something that had happened at work. A nice, quiet date night was precisely what she needed, and he had something simple but meaningful planned for the evening.
